Mangled
by PheonixTourmaline
Summary: You're awake. You're awake and now you can't go back to sleep. (Rated T for swearing and some vaguely suggestive moments).


_AN:_

 _1\. Takes place In-Universe, directly before and during the events of FNAF 2._

 _2\. Highly experimental. Bear in mind that my interpretation of the events of FNAF 2 may differ from yours so if you notice an discrepencies in the timeline, chalk it up to subjective reasoning._

 _3\. The background lore never did quite definitely explain why the Toy Animatronic Series were so very intent on killing the night guard. The explaination for the old crew is there but the new guys? Not so much._

 _4\. Female protagonist. Or at least the protagonist identifies as female._

 _5\. Vignettes. Second Person POV. Things that were acceptable in the 80s._

* * *

 **Same Day Birthday**

You're awake.  
You're awake and now you can't go back to sleep.

The cacophonic droning of your alarm wakes you from a shallow slumber.  
While lifting your eyelids feels like a laborious task, a flicker of excitement in the pit of your belly reminds you waking up at 7am after just three hours of sleep is not as bad as it sounds.

At least not this morning anyway.

That little flicker of excitement and a pair of eyes of bright, green eyes peering around the door of your bedroom both remind you of why today is worth getting out of bed for.

"Are you awake?" a tiny, slightly hesitant voice asks.

You nod affirmatively, pulling yourself into a sitting-ish position and opening your arms as you manage a lopsided smile. "Mhmm..."

Your little brother lets out a happy squeak and bolts into your bedroom, his oversized pirate-themed pyjamas growing baggy at the knees as he barrels into the bed beside you.  
They were the only pair left in the store and despite being three times his clothing size, Shaun just had to have them.  
You couldn't bring yourself to say no to him, not that that was anything new.

"Happy Same-Day Birthday," he wishes you excitedly, taking care whisper. More care than any five-year old should have to take on the morning of his birthday.

"Happy Same-Day Birthday," you whisper back, ruffling the coppery mop of curls on his head. "Thanks for making sure I was awake on time." You poke him in the side. "How long have you been awake for?"

He pokes you back, sticking out his tongue. "I woke up a long time ago. I'm not a lazy-daisy-bones like you."

"Oh aren't you?"  
You playfully noogie his forehead, catching him in a limp headlock before tickling his sides until he lets out a shriek of laughter.

There is a murmur in the next room over and you both freeze, staring at the beige-coloured wall about three feet in front of the bed.  
You look down at Shaun and he lifts his index finger, placing it against his lips. You copy the gesture, adding a small smile and hoping to keep him at his ease despite your rapidly increasing heartbeat.

 _Not now,_ you pray. _Please God, not now._

When you're certain that the silence is there to stay, you give his hand a squeeze. "Shower?"

"Shower," he nods, grabbing you by the sleeve of your nightie and dragging you out of bed in his wake. Sometimes you like to joke that he's the older sibling.

You both tiptoe down the corridor, gingerly stepping over small clusters of well-thumbed mailbox flyers and lip-stained glass bottles.  
A telltale snore from your mother's room confirms that she's still asleep and you're grateful for that.

"Did you hear mommy come in last night? Were you awake?" Shaun asks, as soon as the two of you are safely inside the bathroom with the door closed tight.

"Yes," you tell him shortly as you tug the top of his pyjamas over his head. "I was."  
Awake?  
You were the one who actually put her to bed the night before.  
She couldn't remember her own name, let alone yours, but at least she didn't have any mystery bruises this time nor did she seem intent on giving you any.

He doesn't press the issue and you hope it's because he's only five and thus doesn't care.  
A little voice at the back of your head tells you it's because he's heard the ending to the _mom-got-home-late-last-night_ story so many times already.

You hope beyond all hope that it's not because he stayed up all night again.

You run your thumb over the worryingly lilac circles beneath Shaun's eyes as you wash his face, kneeling over the edge of the bathtub.  
"You ok?" he asks you, obviously noticing the concern in your eyes; he's always been precocious like that.

"Just wondering if I connected some of these dots," you joke, pretending to trace lines between his freckles. "If I could make a cool picture? Like maybe a dinosaur? Or a monkey?"

"Or a fox!" Shaun suddenly declares, waving his arms and sending suds spattering against the tiled walls around him. "Like Foxy!" He looks at you thoughtfully. "Hey, do you think they'll let us sit in pirate cove again? So Foxy can sing happy birthday to us?"

"I can't see why not," you assure him, working the shampoo into a lather and working it into his coppery, auburn locks. There was enough hot water for a bath, thankfully. You're suddenly happy that you remembered to shower the night before.

Shaun notices your expression change again so you distract him by using the soap to sculpt his hair into a pair of animalesque ears. Suddenly he looks like a little fox himself.

"Heh, heh," he chuckles, fiddling with the makeshift ears and pulling faces in the reflective surface of the faucets. "Hey, do you think we'll have to share a cake? Or will Chica make two for us?"

"You can have all the cake," you assure him. "You know I'm trying not to eat so much sugar. Gotta watch my weight, don't I?"

"But you'll get a birthday photo with me and Freddy and all the guys, wontcha?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. I _can't_ miss it. It's our Same Day Birthday!"

"Same Day Birthday!" Shaun chants excitedly, splashing in the surface of the water. "Same-Day-Birth-Day! Same-Day-Birth-Day!"

Same Day Birthday was something that you had invented a little after Shaun was old enough to notice that the two of you had your birthdays on the same day.  
Through a complete and confusing coincidence, your mother's waters had broken early on the morning of your twelfth birthday and a few hours later, you were sitting in a maternity ward in the local hospital holding the screaming, squawking bundle that was your little brother, Shaun-Joseph.

He didn't look a thing like you, you noted.  
His nose was different. His skin was different. His eyes were different.

Yet despite your differences and twelve whole years between you, you both had some very important interests in common.

Pepperoni pizza with an extra sprinkle of cheese, (the white kind, not the orange kind).  
Birthday cake with a purple frosting.  
Arcade games that were almost impossible to beat.  
A very particular group of singing animals.

And the locally famous pizzeria that combined them all under one roof.

You would be granted one trip to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria a year, on your birthday.  
Though as soon as you hit ten years old, she refused to take you any longer, citing that you had grown far too old for it.  
Your classmates would laugh at you, she had said. The staff will think you're a loser.

You knew there was no point in arguing with her so you never pressed the issue even if it broke your heart a little.

You quickly realised that the novelty of sharing your birthday with Shaun meant that you now had a fulltime excuse to return to your yearly visits to Freddy's pizza-flavoured, prize-counter paradise without fearing persecution.

Now at seventeen, you couldn't bring yourself to care any longer.  
Not that any of your mother's premonitions had ever come true anyway.  
Your classmates hung around the arcade routinely and dared each other to stand as close to the animatronics as they could and the staff were nothing but kind to you even while chasing your peers away from restricted areas.

And seeing Shaun discover every little surprise that Freddy's had to offer, just as you had when you were his age, was the best part of it all.

You help him dress in his favourite t-shirt and overalls, tying his sneakers and smoothing his hair before placing a baseball cap on his head.  
"Gotta look our best before we see our friends at the Pizzeria today," you remind him, prompting a little nod from him.

"You're wearing your Chica t-shirt!" he observes cheerily as you make your way out to the car. "The one we won last year! Are you gonna get a photo with Chica?"

"If she has time to see me," you tell him with a wink. "She's a busy chicken, after all."

As you pull out of the driveway, driving your mom's old Cadillac, (a privilege that you are only afforded at this time every year in order to perform your duty of getting yourself/Shaun out of the house for his/your birthday), you glance back at the house just in time to catch a glimpse of a light turning on in your mother's bedroom.

Maybe you should have left a note, the annoying voice at the back of your head starts to suggest.

"She didn't read the last one you left. She just used it as a coaster," you tell yourself, effectively banishing the thought from your mind as soon as you reach the end of the block.

You glance down at Shaun, who's already bouncing up and down in his seat, singing along to the song on the radio.  
You smile widely.

Today is going to be a good day.

* * *

 **The Last Photograph**

The carpark is already pretty full by the time you reach Freddy Fazbear's.  
Then again, it's a Saturday so you suppose that it shouldn't serve as a surprise.

Pizza for breakfast and birthday cake for second breakfast, it is.

Shaun grabs your hand, pulling it from the gear stick as soon as the car is safely parked and squeezing it tight.  
"We're here!"

You nod, grinning widely and unashamed of the fact that you can't contain your excitement either.  
"Ready?"

"Ready!"

The interior of the Pizzeria is already bright and alive, a myriad of colours flashing wherever you look. It burns your eyes in the most pleasant of ways whilst the music blaring from the speakers ripples through your chest.

"Party of two?" you tell the staff-member at the door, adding in the politest voice you can muster: "And if at all possible, could it be near Pirate Cove?"

You're normally pretty awkward when it comes to talking with the serving staff anywhere and usually, the staff at Freddy's are a rare exception to your silent social malfunctioning.  
This waiter is a new face though.  
And what a face too.

He's got the biggest, greenest eyes that you've ever seen and they're perfectly rimmed with a frame of thick eyelashes that only emphasise their verdant gleam.

"Sure thing," he tells you, making the relevant ticks on his clipboard before glancing down at Shaun with a wide grin. "Do we have a new recruit for Foxy's crew here?" He looks back at you. "Or maybe two? You're sure lucky your big sister is taking you here today! My big sister isn't half as cool as that."

His smile is making your face turn hotter by the second.  
He probably plays this game with every older sister who walks through the door here.  
Yet you still can't help but smile stupidly at his remarks.

"We're _both_ gonna join Foxy's crew," Shaun insists as you both follow the waiter to your table, swinging out of your arm. "It's my sister's birthday too! We go here every year for our Same Day Birthday!" He flops down into the seat that's nearest to the purple, star-printed curtain and grabs a nearby, paper pirate-hat. "Me and her. Me and her. Two birthdays. Same day."

"Oh, happy birthday to both of you then," the waiter says, raising his eyebrows but his kind smile does not fade. "You want a hat too?" he offers you. "To show your loyalty to the home team?"

You shrug off your jacket, tugging on your yellow Chica t-shirt.  
"I'm all set, thanks."

"Ah, nice t-shirt," Smiling Waiter Guy chuckles, nodding appreciatively at your choice of fashion.

"Nice bowtie," you return right back, giving an appreciative nod of your own.

He seems genuinely proud of this compliment, adjusting the red ribbon with an eyebrow wiggle that prompts a giggle from Shaun. "Thanks ma'am, it's a standard issue."

He certainly _does_ wear the outfit well.  
His purple drainpipe pants are pressed to perfection and the pin-buttons on his lapel are arranged in an eyecatching pattern around his name tag.

Before you can get around to reading his name though, a child at a nearby table is shrieking for more crayons and your charming waiter is forced to leave you with a bemused chortle of:

"Duty calls."

"You're all pink," Shaun tells you, poking your cheek as soon as the waiter is gone.

"No I'm not," you insist, poking his cheek back and trying to laugh off a sudden bout of giddy embarrassment.

"You sure are! Pink like cupcake frosting!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!

"Are too times a hundred and infinity plus one!"

You concede defeat just in time for the show to start, familiar music pouring through the speakers as the curtains pull back to reveal the famous, buccaneer fox himself.

Pirate's Cove erupts into applause and raucous whooping from every kid in sight as a much-loved voice calls out:

" _Aye aye there, land-lubbers! Are ye ready to join me Pirate Crew!?"_

You know his set so well, you can practically mouth the words along with him.  
It never gets boring though.  
Especially not with Shaun at your side.  
As the show goes on, you find yourself watching him instead of Foxy, watching your little brother sing and shout and clap along to every tune.

There's something about his big wide, gap-toothed smile and the creases that form along his cheeks that remind you why you used to love coming here as a kid.  
And mostly while you still do.

Explosions of confetti eventually signal the end of the show and Shaun's quick to remind you that you've both got so much more to do.  
It's not long before you're both in the arcade, poring over the latest versions of Pac-Man, Super Mario and most importantly: Freddy and Friends.

Last year, you almost beat the legendary cake-delivery level.  
This year was your year of redemption.

Carefully rationing of your quarters and Shaun's cheerleading grants you a bounty of over one hundred tickets and after a few games of air-hockey and shooting-gallery, you both reap your rewards from the prize counter.

You've got an armful of plush toys in your lap when you and Shaun take your seats in the main room. He insists on ordering for both of you and he does so with the air of a practiced wine connisseur, eliciting peals of giggles from the very-amused waitress.

Your food arrives only seconds before the show starts and you quickly decide that The Freddy Trio's music is best enjoyed when one is drooling cheese fronds with one's tongue coated with soda-fountain cola and a cupcake frosting moustache smeared upon one's upper lip.

You're surprised when the waitress brings out _two_ birthday cakes, (which in Fazbear tradition take the form of giant cupcakes), and the staff insists on singing happy birthday to both of you, (conducted by Freddy himself).

"I only ordered one," you remark aloud, following some garbled thanks to the chorus of staff members. "Shaun's the real birthday boy."

The waitress shrugs, winking slyly and smirking a bit. "A little birdy told me that it was big sister's birthday too."

You blush and Shaun inquires as to whether the" birdy" was Chica herself or simply a relation of Chica's.

When the animatronics finally are permitted to wander down into the crowd, you're one of the few teenagers who doesn't shy away from having your photo taken with them and Shaun is delighted when lift him up high enough to press his nose against Freddy's.

Your perfect day is coming to a close, you note, only bothering to check your watch when Shaun is taking his turn in the ball-pit.  
You're careful to keep an eye on him even as you're packing your prize-counter winnings into your backpack.

"Your photo is ready for collection, Miss Carter," a voice says behind you and you turn to see that it's Smiling Waiter Guy.

"O-Oh? Thanks," you stammer, shrugging the bag on to your shoulders. "You don't have to call me that though. I, uh, answer to Molly."

"Alright then, Miss Molly," he grins, rolling his pen between his fingers. "Follow me when you're ready. Your photo's at the prize counter."

"Thank you," you bid him with that same stupid smile before glancing back over your shoulder. "Shaun! We gotta go grab the photo! Come on!"

He grumbles as he follows you away but not in a way that's overly petulant.  
He's an anomaly among most five year olds in that he always seems to appreciate everything you do for him.  
You feel blessed as an older sibling for having never had to deal with a public tantrum.

As you push through the crowd, you're taken aback by how many people seem to be flooding through the arcade. You keep a tight grip on Shaun's hand and are almost knocked off your feet by a sudden stampede of tweens, only to be steadied by a pair of hands on your shoulders.

You turn, only to be greeted by the sight of a dark purple uniform and a gold-plated badge that reads: " D"

"Easy there, honey. At this time of the day, the kiddy parties start swapping out with the arcade gangs and they're all in a rush to get to the machines. Those damn kids are gonna kill someone one of these days," he says, his eyes sliding downwards to Shaun. "They almost took this poor little guy's head clean off."

Shaun instinctively grips his own throat, gulping as the security guard helps you to adjust your backpack.

You smile politely over your shoulder but the smile doesn't reach your eyes. "Thank you, sir. You're very kind."

"Any time, missy," you hear him say as you make your way back in to the crowd.

The staff member at the prize counter is not Smiling Waiter Guy and he's unbearably slow when it comes to finding the Kodak polaroid that's yours.  
It isn't long before Shaun becomes bored, pulling on your skirt to grab your attention.

"Hey Molly! Can we go now!?"

"Not just yet. I've gotta get our photo first. You want it, right?"

"Yeah but it's taking _forever_."

"I know, but I can't do anything about that." You give him a sympathetic pat on the head, returning your attention to the prize counter.

"Oh! Freddy's back outside again! Can I go over and say hello?"

"No, Shaun. I don't want to have to go back through the Arcade to get you again. We're late enough as it is." You sigh, ruffling his hair. "I'm sorry, bud. I promise that when I get work this summer, I'll take you to Freddy's every weekend. Ok?"

"Ok... but Freddy's not even in the Arcade! He's over there! Where Pirate Cove is! Look! There's no line to see him! Can I _please_ go over? Just for two seconds? Oh wow...he looks different..."

You look over at the silhouette of the bear and then down at your little brother's pleading eyes before finally conceding defeat. "Alright then...but come straight back..."

As you stare blankly at the prize counter shelves, you find your vision starting to blur- all of the colours blending into one mass of watery, illuminated spirals.  
You blink yourself out of your torpor when out of the corner of your eye, you see a black figure sweep through the corners of your vision.  
You turn your head suddenly but just barely miss it.  
It's strange though. It looks like whatever it was climbed inside one of the novelty prize boxes. Maybe it's a new animatronic?

It's another full ten minutes before the staff member finally resurfaces with the correct photo. You had prepared a complaint whilst you were waiting but upon seeing the staff member's sweating, stressed-torn face, you can't bring yourself to say your mental script aloud.

The sight of the photo causes your anger to evaporate.  
It's you, Bonnie, Chica, Freddy, Foxy and Shaun.  
His wide smile being the centre-point of the small, glossy picture.

You can't wait to show it to him.

You look around, suddenly realising that he's nowhere in sight.

You call out his name, making your way over to Pirate Cove.  
There's no one there and there's something unnerving about seeing the place so silent.  
Where is he?

Your breathing starts to pick up.

You call out his name as you walk through the Main Dining Area and into the Arcade.  
Where is he? He wouldn't leave the building, would he?

Your heart is suddenly starting to beat so hard that it feels it's going to break out of your ribcage, shattering the bones around it.  
Where is he? He always comes when you call.

There's another parent in there looking for a child and you both decide to join forces.

Your palms are soon coated in a cold sweat.  
Where is he? He wouldn't hide like this.

You attract the stares of multiple teens as you check under and around every machine.  
Where is he?  
Where is he?  
Where is he?  
Where is he?

A few staff members volunteer to check the bathrooms and the play area.  
Then the kitchen and staff offices are checked.  
Then backstage.  
Then the parking lot.

You're crying frantically now, as is the other parent.  
The staff assure you that they'll do everything that they can to help out.  
They tell you that their daytime security guard just left for home but that they'll check the security cameras.

The footage is useless.  
The part of Pirate Cove that Shaun was standing in is a blind spot in the cameras.

You're not even paying attention as they search the tapes for the other child.

Your head is spinning and your legs decide that you need to sit down before your brain can catch up with the idea.  
Suddenly you're on the floor.  
Then a glass of water is being pushed into your hand, the water sloshing over your knuckles as your hand trembles and a leather seat is under your bottom, the material cold against your thighs.

Then they're asking your permission to call the police.  
Then the cops are on their way.

It's simultaneously happening too fast and not happening fast enough.

"Are you his mother?"  
"No...n-no, I'm his sister."  
"Where is is his mother?"  
"Sh-she's at home...but she's not avail-available right now..."  
"We're going to have to call her in, sweetie, ok? You're not his legal guardian so you can't help us with the processing the way she can..."

Despite your protests, they insist on contacting her.  
She's swearing down the phone at the poor cop who's forced to make the call, demanding angrily to speak with you.  
You barely comprehend what she says- other than the fact that she's going to rip you to shreds when she sees you next.

Luckily, the next time she sees you will be at a police station so the "ripping-to-shreds" deal will have to be postponed until you get home.

Smiling Waiter Guy is at the door as the cops escort you to the car outside.  
He's still smiling but his big, green eyes look so much sadder now.  
You try to return the smile but your lips won't allow it.

You're sobbing hysterically by the time you reach the car and the cops are sensitive enough not to pass comment when you tug a Foxy plush toy from your backpack and cradle it in your lap.

You cling to it like its your lifeline.

* * *

 **One Cold Hand**

The police are quick with their reports.  
They call back only a few days later to tell you that Shaun has been added to the National Directory of Missing Children.

Your voice shakes as you give a verbal report at the station but not half as much as it shakes when you tell your mother what happened, blow by blow, for the hundredth time that night.  
She won't let you sleep.  
You don't feel like you deserve to sleep.

You're eventually told that Shaun wasn't the only child who went missing on that day.  
As if that's supposed to make you feel better.

As if knowing that you're one of a group of negligent guardians as opposed to being a lone negligent guardian is supposed to alleviate the weight that has just been placed on you.

As if knowing that Shaun is one of multiple victims- multiple victims who would be declared "presumed dead" only three months later- will stop the cold hand of guilt from digging its fingers into your shoulders, pressing down on your temples and clawing at your throat.

A small service is held at your local church and despite neither you nor your mother having ever been particularly religious, the pastor is warm-hearted and understanding. The neighbours are equally supportive and pay their respects with the utmost sensitivity, despite most of them having never met or spoken to Shaun at all.

Your classmates show their sympathy in different ways.  
You don't have many close friends but the ones you do have offer you as many under-the-bleachers chats as you need.  
People who've never given you a second glance let you cut in the lunch line and offer you their notes in Home Room.  
The teachers tell you that if you need to leave class you can do so without asking.

No luxury or privilege in the world will bring him back though.  
Nothing is going to lift the cold hand that grips your throat while you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quarter-hours chime.  
Every time you close your eyes, you see his face.  
You wonder where he is.  
Who took him.  
What they're doing to him.

You frequently find yourself needing to be sick.  
A local newspaper has cooked up a story about a kidnapper and they want you to comment. You decline with more anger than you thought you had in you.  
You wish they'd just leave you alone.

It's only when you finally collapse in the middle of Calculus that your Home Room teacher suggests that you should see the school counsellor.

You agree.  
Talking to your friends isn't helping because you don't want to burden them any more. It's been over half a year now.

Your mother refuses to talk about it.  
She's made up her mind about the whole incident.

It's your fault.  
Simple as that.

You can't help but agree with that too.  
And that's why you have trouble sleeping

It's October of your Senior Year before you finally sleep for an entire eight hours.

* * *

 **A Year Later**

Senior Year passes by like a blur.  
A blur that smells like textbooks and whatever they use to clean the school toilets.  
You don't go to prom despite being asked by four guys and two girls.  
Despite the best of their intentions, you feel like every kind gesture made towards you is still born out of pity.

At the same time, it's a little bit of a self-esteem boost.  
At the school counsellor's advice, you tried out for the school's dance team and made some pretty great friends out of it. None of them have applied to any of the same universities as you, so you can't see yourself keeping in contact with them but they were a lot of fun while they lasted.  
They're full of excitement about graduation, citing as some kind of major milestone but you can't bring yourself to see it as any more than a "congrats-on-surviving-high-school-here-have-a-fancy-piece-of-paper" ceremony.

Summer arrives with a surge of sunlight and a sudden influx of tourists in the area. You're sifting through the local paper, looking through the job listings.  
Desperation is gnawing at your neck and you're willing to look at anything, provided it pays you in the form of money.

One ad in particular immediately catches your eye.  
Your mother calls you crazy when you tell her that you're going to apply but doesn't try to stop you.

You haven't been able to so much as look at this place since last year.  
You spent your eighteenth birthday cleaning out Shaun's room and while you had planned to donate all of his plushies back to the establishment, you hadn't made it halfway across the parking lot before hysteric, grieving cowardice dragged you back to your car.  
Crying all the way.

You resolve that you will not cry this time as you get out of the car and walk all the way to the front door, clutching your CV in one hand and a sweat forming on your brow.

Your senses are immediately assaulted as soon as you step into the establishment, the scents and sounds of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza eliciting a tremble in your lips.  
You bite the inner part of your mouth and walk straight up to the nearest employee.

"Hi, I'm here about the job listing in The Review..."

The peroxide-blonde waitress looks at you with a cocked eyebrow for a moment, as though she's questioning your sanity and you feel the need to add:

"...like, the newspaper? The job listing that was in the newspaper for waiting staff. I wanna..."

"I get it," the waitress says, lifting a hand to bring a halt to your rambling. "I just...we don't get many...it's not exactly a popular..." She exhales, shaking her head and massaging the bridge of her nose beneath her pink-framed glasses. "You know, what? Never mind. Wait here for a second."

She returns only a minute later, flanked by a young man who's as big, brown and brawny as Freddy Fazbear himself.  
He's got Freddy's kind eyes too though, you notice, feeling a little less tense when he offers you his hand to shake.

"I'm Devon Monteau," he tells you as he takes your CV. "Team manager for today's floor staff. It's nice to meet you..." His eyes wander down to the front page, his voice stilling for a fraction of a second. "...Miss Carter."

"I answer to Molly," you tell him quickly and automatically, adding a wheezy, nervous chuckle. "Uh, I'm sorry to just barge in like this. I probably should've called ahead but-"

"It's cool," Devon assures you, sifting through your CV as he addresses the blonde-haired waitress. "Gina, could you go and grab Mr Dunlap?"

She rolls her eyes, not bothering to disguise her discontent.  
"You know how he gets when we bother him during the day?"

"Better you than me," Devon retorts, waiting until she's gone before apologising to you. "It's been a long day for us all."

You assure him that it's alright, realising that it must be true what you've heard about the recent turnover of staff at Freddy Fazbear's.  
Devon and Gina are both completely unfamiliar faces to you so they have only been hired within the last year.  
Apparently most of the staff quit following the "Abduction Incident", as it is now being called amongst locals.

Mr Dunlap turns out to be the Overseeing Manager and Head of Human Resources.  
You know this because that's what his nametag declares.

He's got bristly brows and a face that looks as though it's used to being stuck in a perpetual scowl.  
"Devon!" he snaps, brushing past you as though you're invisible. "What have I told you about dragging me out of the office before midday!?"

His tone causes you to flinch, (along with several unsuspecting children who happen to be passing through the entrance hall), but Gina and Devon appear completely and coolly undeterred.

"We've got an applicant for the waiting job," the Team Leader tells the Manager with an unwaveringly polite smile.

"Then she can damn well come back during less busy hours! I can't be exp-"

"Mr Dunlap, this is Molly _Carter_."  
Devon either intentionally or unintentionally emphasises your surname and this effectively robs Dunlap of his voice for a few golden seconds.

When it finally returns, it is accompanied by a sickly smile directed straight at you.  
"Ah. Splendid. Sorry for the nerves...I've been dealing with insurance agents all morning and it's far from a pleasant experience. Speaking of which, have you got any experience as a waitress?"

"N-No," you admit, your hands clasped tightly behind your back to stop yourself from shaking. "But I've pretty much come here once a year since I was three so I like to think that I have a pretty good idea of-!"

"Great, great," Dunlap says dismissively, snatching your CV from Devon and throwing it a bare sliver of a glance before stuffing it into his suit pocket. "When can you start?"

And just like that: you're hired.  
No questions asked.

Dunlap asks Gina and Devon to show you around before retreating into his office.  
As you make your way through the pizzeria, you can't help but notice that it's changed quite a bit since you've last been.  
You'd heard something or other about it being bought by new owners but you didn't think anything would have be redesigned on such a huge scale.

The dining area seems bigger, the stage seems flashier and everything in general seems far more high-tech.  
Then there's the animatronics.

Your first encounter with the new series is as you turn a corner, almost colliding with a glossy, yellow chicken who seems both warmly familiar and grotesquely alien to you.  
It's a strange, uncanny contradiction.

You involuntarily cry out in surprise when the animatronic cheerily shouts:

 _"Hi-dey ho there, kiddies!"_

Devon and Gina don't bother to stifle their laughter at your evident shock.

"This is Chica," the Team Leader announces ceremoniously. "The queen of the cupcakes. The hot chick on the block. Take a second if you need to; I know it must be nerve wrecking to finally meet her in person."

"She looks...different," you manage to say, surveying her with a bubbling brew of mixed feelings in the pit of your stomach. You shudder when you notice that her eyes are following yours.

"State of the art. The management call 'em the Toy Series," Gina remarks, patting Chica on the shoulder. "Facial recognition software...advanced AI...like somethin' outta one of those Steven Spielberg movies, huh?" She smirks at you, raising a heavily pencilled eyebrow. "No need to freak out, hun, I promise they don't bite. In fact, they do a better job moving around and taking care of the kids than we do."

Right on cue, a small cluster of children scurry out from one of the bathrooms, giving a yelp of delight at the sight of Chica and hurrying over.  
The animatronic dutifully turns away from the employees and redirects her attention to the kids who are now pawing at her legs.

"What happened to the other ones?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself from asking the question.

Devon jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Back room. The management's been talking about retro-fitting them with the new tech for another location but at the moment we just use 'em for parts..."

"Oh," you echo softly, bidding farewell to Chica and her newly found hatchlings before allowing Devon and Gina to lead you to the backstage area.

It's nothing glamorous but you're afforded a top locker, newly scraped of all your predecessor's belongings, and you decide to expect much else would be naive of you.

"So what actually made you _want_ this job?" your new fellow-waitress asks you as she rifles through a rack of uniforms. She drops her voice slightly. "I mean I know serving pizza to kids isn't rocket science but the pay's a joke, the hours are long and then there's the _emotional_ drain...like what possesses you to pick here over any other burger joint in town?"

You shrug, unsure of how to verbalise a coherent answer but deciding that a shred of truth is probably the best place to start.  
"I...I used to come here all the time. I guess I always thought that working here would be my dream job when I was a kid...and now I get a chance to live the dream..."

"Jesus H. Christ, another Fazfanatic," Devon chuckles, but not unkindly. "Rhys is gonna be happy he's not the only bear-hugging veteran any more."

"Rhys?" you question, the name tugging on your memory for some reason. You flinch as Gina thrusts another dress up under your neckline only to discard it once more.

"Yeah," she says. "He's the other waiter who works in our team-group."

"There's eight employees in house all day," Devon explains. " We're split into two team-groups. Four work in the dining room and then four work the extra jobs...y'know, arcade, prize counter, Kiddie Cove...that kinda thing. It looks like you'll be taking over from Heather and working with me, Rhys, another guy named Patrick and G here."

"Lucky bitch got out as soon as her contract was up," Gina mutters, finally seeming satisfied with her choice of dress for you. "Here. Try this on for size."

Moments later, you're clad in the standard uniform for female staff members: a traditional 1950s diner-style waitress' dress with a frilly apron draped over the pencil skirt.  
Gina's dress is bright yellow whilst yours is white but your aprons both bear the same gaudy pink tone.

"It's lovely," you comment, smiling at your reflection in the slightly grubby mirror propped in the corner of the break-room.

"It ain't Versace," snorts Gina. "But you're allowed to wear whatever shoes and make up you want with it so like, that's something, I guess."

When your two new fellow employees are eventually summoned back to work, you get the chance to sign your contracts.  
Dunlap is almost unsettling with how scattered and brisk he is.  
He all but rips the pages from you as soon as you've printed your signature on the dotted line.  
As though he's afraid you'll suddenly change your mind.

"Great, great, great...you start first thing tomorrow. We'll get you settled up with a uniform set as soon as we can and you can collect a nametag from the security guard's office. Second drawer on the left side..."

The office is eerily empty and eerily quiet aside from the occassional buzz of the portable screens and the monotonous whirring of the desk fan.  
You drop your newly retrieved nametag to the floor when a voice suddenly pierces the air:

"What are you doing in here?"

You stand up quickly, whipping around only to see a tall man in a familiar uniform standing behind you.  
He studies you for a moment with a stare that is almost violatingly intense before slowly stooping to pick up your fallen nametag.

"New employee, eh?" he asks you, briefly flickering his gaze from the little piece of plastic back to you.

You nod dumbly, having to force your voice to start working again. "Y-Yeah. Yeah, I am. Sorry to intrude. Thanks for-" You reach forward to take your nametag from him but he holds it out of your reach.

"No problem, honey," he assures you with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Anything to help a new face. I'm Eric by the way. Eric the guard, the kids call me. I'm usually on the night shift but our day boy copped out sick on me so I'm pulling a damn double header today. Unlucky, huh?"

"Yeah," you nod, starting to feel irrationally uneasy. "Real unlucky."

"So what name are we putting on this thing?" he asks you, fishing a Sharpie marker out from behind his guard's badge.

"Molly."

"Molly..." he echoes, writing it down on to the tag in a broad, looping scrawl. "Molly...hmm...sounds familiar." He raises an eyebrow. "You _look_ familiar actually. Do I know you from somewhere?"

His face is admittedly toying with the strings of your distant memories but you don't want to fuel this conversation any further and insistently shake your head.

"No. Sorry. It must have been another Molly. Or maybe I just have of those faces."

"Maybe," he murmurs thoughtfully, affixing the nametag to your chest with an unsettling, lingering slowness that brings a tremble to your knees. "There we go."

"Thanks," you say quickly, immediately turning on heel and walking down the corridor away from the office.  
There is a burning sensation in the back of your neck.  
He's still looking at you.

* * *

 **The Daily Grind**

Work commences at seven in the morning.  
And work is hard.  
You become the new fifth member of Team E- one of the many teams that work at the restaurant.

Gina wasn't lying when she said that the emotional side of things was much more strenuous than the actual physical strain.  
Before midday you've already taken six orders back to the kitchen to be heated up, coolled down or reassembled entirely. Additionally, you have emptied the content of your lungs into the corpses of fifteen deflated balloons, rescued at least four toddlers from the unforgiving, plastic depths of the ball-pit and had three parents yell at you for various reasons beyond your control.

"The parents are worse than the kids most of the time," Patrick tells you, shaking his head as another scorned, self-entitled, suburban mother storms away- her lecture delivered. "The kids don't give a crap about half the things that their moms and dads feel the need to scream at us about..."

Patrick barely looks a day older than fourteen, easily being the shortest member of the staff but he's almost thirty and has a brain to rival one of the fancy AI systems in one of the animatronics.  
He's commonly stuck on arcade duty due to his tech-savvy skills and he rarely complains about it.

"I'd rather deal with a bunch of Street Fighter-hyped little meatheads than screeching toddlers," he informs you, eyeing the small litter of kids trying to clumsily mount the Merry-Go-Round.

One of them realises that the quadruped version of Freddy does not, in fact, have a removeable hat and lets out a ripping howl, causing Patrick to visibly cringe.

"Low noise tolerance?" you tease, laughing under your breath at his comically disgusted expression.

"I just lack the patience for anything that doesn't have a screen or a CPU," he confesses. "You can't programme a kid not to do stupid things and they don't have a mute button." He shrugs, spreading his hands. "And at least the teenagers can be bribed and blackmailed and shit..."

It doesn't take you long to realise that for how sweet they can manage to be to the clientele, the staff at Freddy's are a gang of street smart rogues.  
Loveable rogues though, you have to admit.

Rubbing elbows on the job is the only way for you to socialise with your fellow employees as you're all forced to take your breaks seperately.  
You haven't even met your fifth team mate yet- though if the schedule pasted to the wall is to be believed, it's because he's been out of work with the flu.  
Break time consists of fifteen minutes in the locker room to wolf down a sandwich, take a gulp of water and perhaps use the bathroom as quickly as you can.

Again, you can see what Gina was trying to warn you of.

That said, for the lack of creature comforts- you can't bring yourself to hate the work.  
To the contrary, you love it.  
The positives outweigh the negatives by a mile.

"Yook Molly," a four-year-old in overalls beckons, waving a page over your shoulder. "I drawed you an' Fweddy."  
You happily add the crayon-printed masterpiece to your collection of children's artwork and allow the little artist to play with your hair.

You were quickly assigned to "Kid's Cove"- the reincarnation of Pirate's Cove and easily the least coveted job on the entire roster.  
The place is usually where the youngest of Freddy's guests can be found. Thus the floor never seems to be short of something to mop up and there's never a quiet or banal moment.

And since you hate being alone with your thoughts, this all suits you just fine.

With their moms and dads having retreated to the main Dining Hall for their complimentary coffee, the kids cling to you for any emotional support that they may need and seeing as none of them understand the idea of "one at a time" or "wait a second", you've usually got a hoarde of at least eight infants hanging from you at any given time.

"Those kids like to pull you apart more than the fucking Mangle," Gina remarks, watching you untangle a two-year-old's frosting-coated hands from your hair.

"The Mangle" is what the staff have dubbed the newer version of Foxy the Pirate.

At first, you're a little apprehensive to see the pirate captain reduced to such a saccharine design- not to mention demoted to a somewhat nightmare-inducing 3D jigsaw puzzle for the children- but you eventually grow to love him/her.  
There's something strangely endearing about the animatronic's inherent ferocity contrasted with its fragility.

The gender of the Mangle is still a subject of fierce debate amongst the employees.  
Due to a lack of female representation amongst the animatronics, you feel like another lady wouldn't go astray so you tend to refer to it as "she."

"She" has quite an advanced AI system and tends to blink and nod her head whilst the children are playing around her. While her uncanny movements can be unsettling, you notice, she's not half as chatty as the other animatronics.  
She's also got a smaller second head, which you eventually discover was supposed to be part of a smaller hand-puppet character that a staff member could voice remotely.  
According to Patrick, it still functions quite well as a radio-tuner of sorts.

Many of the little clients are just old enough to remember Foxy's original appearance and you're happy to make up stories about the pirate fox's adventures to keep the children entertained.  
When they question you about his new look, you explain that this is an entirely new character.

"Her name is Matey," you tell the children, as you delicately reassemble the pieces that once made up the white fox's collarbone and head. "As in, she's Captain Foxy's First Mate. She promised him she'd take care of his crew while he was out at sea..."

You never get tired of narrating the stories that you think up whenever you've got a spare moment to yourself.  
The kids, in turn, never seem to get tired of listening to them- often requesting cameos from other characters.

One day you get a genuine stab of terror and anguish when you look up from picking up crayons out of the foam flooring to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway of Kid's Cove.

"Look!" one of the toddlers exclaims. "It's Foxy! He came back!

 _"Ahoy th-the-the-there me hear-hearties!"_ a spectral voice wheezes from his speaker system.

The little boy looks up at you. "Molly, he came here to hear your stories...Molly? Why are you crying?"

You hadn't realised that tears were rolling down your face and you hastily mumble that you're just so happy to see Foxy again.

Thankfully, Devon is passing by and is quick to find a way to escort the old animatronic back to the backstage area.  
"They wander around from time to time," he explains to you between serving pizza one day. "Apparently they were never given a proper shut-off mode so they're always kinda low-key ticking away. Like Tamagotchis, you know? It's weird though. From time to time, they kinda move around backstage but I've never seen one walk _that_ far before. I'll be sure to say it to management..."

If he has noticed that you had been blubbering, he chooses not to say anything about it.  
Thankfully.  
Maybe he's chalked it up to you getting a fright from the sight of one of the older animatronics.  
This couldn't be further from the truth but you resolve not to explain it.

* * *

 **The Back Wall of Your Locker**

"Take five if you need to," Devon reminds you, when he notices how red your face has become. "I can cover for you for a few while you get yourself together."  
Your breathing has become shallow and your mouth tastes metallic and as much as you want to finish helping three year old Amy with her drawing, you feel like a quick run backstage is in your best interest.

It's happening again.  
The tightness in your chest and the throbbing in your temples.  
Coupled with a sudden stinging in your eyes and an uncomfortable stirring in your stomach.

The cause of each attack varies: it could be anything from the sound of staff members distantly singing happy birthday to the familiar pattern of freckles across a child's nose.  
Regardless of what sets you off, the outcome is always the same.  
The fuse is lit and now all you want to do is to silently explode.

You don't like it when people fuss over you but you're always appreciative when one of your fellow team-members notices your impending fits of panic and gives you the opportunity to escape for a few minutes of personal time.

"We wouldn't do it for everyone," Gina tells you breezily as she adjusts her ponytail in the staff-room mirror. "But you usually pull your weight and then some so we're not about to put you through the ringer."

You thank Gina profusely but it's always times like this that make you secretly want to ask your fellow employees if any of them are aware that your brother was one of the "Freddy Five", (as they were dubbed by a particularly nasty local tabloid journalist).

You are almost certain that Dunlap knows who you are.  
That's more than likely why he gave you the job.

Right now, you're hyperventilating into your locker, leaning into the small, cold compartment.  
For some reason the back wall of your locker, the sight of your own blurry face, puts you at ease. Maybe its because that strange, watercolour silhouette serves as a reminder for you.  
You're still here.  
You're still alive.

You are starting to calm down slowly, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead and steadying your breaths. You decide it's time to return to Kid's Cove.  
Then you see it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a dark figure.  
As you whip your head around quickly, you briefly perceive a blurry sliver of purplish hue but by the time your vision settles on the spot in question, the figure is gone.

Suddenly, you're feeling paranoid, goosebumps forming an unpleasant carpet on your exposed forearms.  
You desperately try to calm yourself, deciding that reading this week's work schedule tacked to the wall is probably the most immediate solution.

You notice that you've got Friday off. That's nice. So does Patrick; maybe you both can finally go for doughnuts.  
You notice that Rhys is scheduled to be in soon. ALso nice. You'll finally get to meet him.  
You notice that someone has drawn little Sharpie-marker hearts around all of their days off the timetable. That's typical Gina.

You smile faintly.  
The smile feels foreign on your face but it feels easier to do than it has been in a long time.

Thankfully, your smile stays there for the rest of the day.

* * *

 **Him**

"I'm _not_ doing it."  
Gina's voice is as solid and sturdy as the woman herself, her arms folded beneath her ample bosom as she glowers up at Devon. "Fuck that, D. Literally fuck that."

It's your first Saturday on the job.  
The busiest day of the week.

The taller man sighs heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "This is not coming from me, it's coming from management. Look, I can't do it this time- I've gotta do front of house."

"Remember last time when I said I was never doing that again? I meant it. Get someone else to do it."

"It doesn't work like that, G! If it's your turn, it's your turn." You hear Devon snort slightly, mirthful. "I didn't think _you_ of all people were so scared of Freddy and his pals."

"It'S NOT the fucking robots! It's that goddamn back room..."  
Despite having your back turned, you can practically hear the shudder in Gina's voice. "I dunno, it just gives me the creeps."

"Look, _someone_ has to do it and-"

"I can do it," you say, looking up from counting prize counter money. You cough bashfully as Gina and Devon redirect their attentions to you, not wanting to appear as though you'd been eavesdropping. "I mean...sorry to interrupt but if you just need someone to check on the animatronics, I have a few minutes spare before I gotta take over for Patrick in the arcade."

The waitress looks as if her birthday has come early. "For real!?"

Devon is a little more apprehensive. "Are you sure, Molly? Technically you haven't finished your orientation yet..."

"But it's not like it's rocket science!" Gina chimes in, much to her co-worker's chagrin. "You just gotta make sure that they're all on their feet and don't have any stains on 'em. It's easy."

"If it's so easy, why aren't _you_ doing it?" the waiter mutters sourly, eliciting a petulant punch to the upper arm from Gina but his protests stop there.

Minutes later, you're right outside of the backstage area, suddenly feeling all too in love with the door frame that you're standing precariously in.  
You're not sure why you volunteered for this.  
Possibly because you don't like hearing people argue, possibly because you want to appear as helpful as possible in your first week and possibly because you're all too aware that Gina and Devon never _had_ to be kind to you.

The management certainly don't give any extra motivation for employees to work well together, monetary, training or otherwise.  
The least you can do, you decide, is to take a weight off both of their minds.  
"Besides," you murmur under your breath as you take a hesitant step into the dark. "I was bound to get this job sooner or later."

The management aren't all that generous when it comes to expenditure of any kind so the only lights come from the small, faintly glowing stick-on lights that are affixed to the far wall. Their size and intensity only allows them to cast a dim halo around their immediate areas and they do little more in the room than give eerie outlines to the old animatronics that are sprawled on the ground beneath them.

Like corpses.

They're just as big as you remember them but you've never realised how lifelike their forms are. Even missing certain parts or contorted into awkward positions, there's something about them that gives them a distinctly human quality and it's something that you can't quite place.

You realise, much to your dread, that accessing the newer animatronics will require you to walk past them and during your oddly stealthy journey, you manage to trip over Bonnie's outstretched foot.

"Sorry!" you instantly cry out.  
You realise your foolishness but also that hearing your own voice aloud, speaking to the animatronics was somewhat comforting.

You keep that strategy as you approach the new models, pulling the rag that Gina gave you from your apron pocket.  
"Hi there," you say, just loud enough to be heard. "Sorry to disturb you all. I'm just here to give you your daily cleaning treatment...I won't be very long...I promise..."

You decide to start with the new model of Bonnie, his half-lidded, directionless gaze sending a tremor through your limbs that you refuse to acknowledge.  
"Mr Bonnie, isn't it?" you ask, starting to wipe down the excess fluid around his shoulder joints and finding that your talking strategy is working nicely. "It's nice to finally meet you in person. I'm a big fan, actually..."  
 **  
**"It's always nice to meet a fan. It's a shame that I don't get to talk to more of you!"

You recoils backwards in horror, almost tripping over several of the cords that lattice the ground at your feet.  
Just as you're trying to figure out how Bonnie the Bunny was able to speak without being turned on, let alone give a coherent answer to your statement, you hear a faint chuckling that's distinctly coming from behind the Toy Animatronics.

"Sorry!" the voice calls out, betraying a good natured owner. "I couldn't resist."

You hesitantly sidle through the rigid, metal bodies, only to see a young man sitting on a spare parts crate behind them all. He has a comic book perched on his lap and has appropriated one of the stick-on wall lights to use as a personal reading lamp.

"I usually come back here on my break for some peace and quiet. Don't worry, you're not the only person that I've managed to scare the crap out of. I've never heard any of 'em talk to Freddy and his buds though..."

You feel your face turn hot, the uncomfortable heat spreading all the way along your neck and down across your ears. "W-Well, I..." you stammer, your voice deserting you when the comic book enthusiast lifts his head to reveal a kind smile coupled with the greenest eyes you've ever seen.

"Don't worry. I talk to them sometimes too. I find they can make real good company when given the chance."

It's him.  
Smiling Waiter Guy.  
It's actually him.  
You'd forgotten about him until now, latently presuming he'd quit like most of the other staff members prior to the child abductions.

Now he's pushing his comic book aside and standing up to shake your hand.  
"I'm Rhys, by the way," he says. "You must be the new girl, right?"

"That's right," you tell him, returning the shake and noticing how pleasantly warm his open palm is. "I'm Molly."

His eyes linger on your face for a moment and his mouth opens as if he's about to say something before closing it again abruptly.  
Maybe he remembers you too?

You're not sure if that thought is a positive or negative one, considering that the circumstances behind the last time the two of you met.

He sighs, dropping his hand to his side. "Well, now my hiding place has finally been properly discovered. I'd better give the guys the bad news." He turns, patting Bonnie on the shoulder. "Sorry buddy, no more live readings of _The Uncanny X-Men._ I guess you'll never find out if Jean and Wolverine actually become a thing... "

"I won't tell anyone you're here," you say with a smile. "I understand how important a little bit of sanctuary can be."

"Sanctuary," he repeats, nodding to himself with a widening grin of his own. "I like it...and you're really not going to tell anyone?"

You shrug, spreading your hands. "I couldn't bring myself to disappoint Bonnie and the guys. I'm sure it would break their hearts if you couldn't read to them anymore- I know Matey would be distraught if I had to give up our playdates."

"Matey?"

"Oh, y-yeah," you splutter. "It's...uh...it's the name I gave to the, uh..." You know it's only a robot but the name "Mangle" still seems so unnecessarily cruel. It wasn't as though the metal fox chose that fate for herself. "...the animatronic in Kid's Cove."

You're braced to see a polite curling of the lip or perhaps an outright barrage of mockery but Rhys suddenly looks delighted.

"Oh! That was _you_?" He laughs aloud but it's neither mocking nor scornful. "I heard the kids calling her that this morning! It's a really great choice. I've been calling her Miss Foxy but Matey sounds better. More original, like..."

"Oh my God, you think she's female too?"

"Well, yeah, isn't it obvious? The lashes, the colour scheme...it's hardly just Foxy painted over. It has to be a new character completely."

"But it's not like she's completely unrelated to Foxy either. They're at least members of the same crew."

"Or siblings?"

"Or cousins?"

"Or lovers?"

"Or maybe just really good friends?"

"Yes! That's it! Sworn to be loyal to each other until the bitter end but torn apart by the unrelenting jaws of fate."

The two of you continue your borderline nonsensical ramblings, building backstories for the various animatronics until you're both laughing so hard that you can't stand up straight. All the while, Rhys sportingly aids you in checking each model.  
It isn't long before you're both drawn back to your duties.

As fortune would have it, both of you end up on Dining Room duty for the remainder of the evening.  
Between taking orders and trying to squeeze between rows of screeching, squabbling children- carrying enough pizza to feed a small army, you and Rhys have the chance to engage in broken conversation.

You find out that he's a pretty devoted Thundercats fan and you tell him that you're more of Ninja Turtles kind of girl.

"Lion-O versus Leonardo?"  
"No contest. Lion-O would turn Leo into turtle soup."  
"Not a chance!"  
"He's got what, like two fairly slim katanas? Versus Lion-O's ammo?"  
"You're not taking Master Splinter's training into account..."

"Hey nerds!" hisses Gina, smacking you both across the rears with a pizza menu as she passes. "Show's about to start. Get to your damn stations before Devon comes over, throws you over his shoulder and carries you there." She gives you a very serious look. "Don't think he won't. He will."

Her stare is that of one who speaks from experience.

Gina doesn't speak to you again until you're both standing at the edge of the dining hall, clapping rhythmically along with the current tune that Freddy's band are belting out.

"So you finally met Rhys," she says, just loudly enough to be audible.

"Yeah, he seems really nice."

You find yourself automatically looking over at him where he stands, across the room from you and you notice that he's lipsynching the words of the song with enthusiastic precision.  
Serving as a quasi-hilarious contrast to those who flank him: Devon who looks as if he's about to fall asleep on his feet and Patrick who looks as if he'll murder someone if he doesn't get a cigarette in the next ten minutes.

He catches you watching and smiles, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes before returning to his self indulgent performance.

Gina gives you a nudge in the side, winking up at you as her glossy, rose-coloured lips pull into a smirk, glittering in the ephermeral strobe lighting.

"He seems to think _you're_ really nice too."

* * *

 **No Crying You Make**

One night you dream that your face is made of metal.  
It doesn't even feel like your face, really.  
It feels like some kind of strange mask that's become fused to your skin, your flesh clinging to the edges of the cold plates like sinewy cobwebs.

Your eyes burn beneath closed lids, your teeth feel too big for your mouth and they scrape your tongue. You want to touch them but you can't lift your arms very high and your jaws are far too heavy to open.

You become faintly aware that you're in a bathroom of some kind and that there's a mirror nearby.  
Your legs are unresponsive so you have to drag yourself across the strangely gritty floor to the reflective surface.

You look at your face.  
A fox stares back.  
A mangled, metal fox that has your eyes.

You try to scream.  
But you can't.

* * *

 **Graveyard Shift**

You've been on the job for just over a month before you're finally called to do the least coveted shift of the day.  
Less coveted than Kid's Cove duty _and_ animatronic inspecting combined.

Long after the children have gone home and the pizzeria has fallen silent, two employees are still required to stay behind to do all of the relevant cleaning, book-keeping and checking before the night guard appears.  
8pm in the evening to just before midnight.

Pulling into a deserted parking lot feels just as unnatural as going to work when it's starting to get dark.  
You unlock the door of the pizzeria and walk hesitantly inside, your footsteps betraying your presence with every clichéd, echoing thud.  
You dip your card into the clocking machine, the device's metal teeth chomping down on the small piece of stiff paper with a noise that you've never heard it make before.  
It's never been quiet enough for you to hear it make that sound before.  
Even during the morning shifts, there's at least the buzz of chatter from the employees and the usual symphony of chairs scraping, sound systems whistling and arcade machines humming to life.

The silence is almost disturbing you notice.  
The place feels empty. Hollow. Abandoned.  
It's so completely devoid of any distracting noises that you can almost hear the distant whirr of the desk fan in the security guard's office.

"Oh hey, you're here."

You let out a cry when a hand touches your shoulder and turn around to see Rhys smiling down at you. He cocks a cheeky eyebrow.

"Did I scare ya?"

You scowl playfully and say dryly: "No, I just like to jump out of my skin and scream every now and then. Randomly. Keeps the blood pumping, y'know?"

"Ouch," Rhys groans, doubling over and clutching at his chest. "That sarcasm could cut a hole in a sheet of metal."

"Drama queen," you goad, unable to stop yourself from smiling at his antics.

"Drama _empress_ ," he corrects you before gesturing for you to follow him down the main hall.

"This place is so weird at night," you mutter, your eyes skimming the walls warily. "Like I'm not sure if I find it scary exactly...it's just _bizarre_ to see the place with no kids around..."

You almost trip over an open vent grate and when you stoop to replace it, you're amazed to see how big the opening is.

"You could fit a person in there," you remark, looking at it incredulously.

"Yep," says Rhys. "There are lights and everything, to help with repairs." He drops his voice slightly, smirking slightly. "Back when Dave- you know, the night guard? When he used to work the day shift, Patrick used to crawl through the vents and fuck with the wiring on his torch. Full battery or not, the thing wouldn't switch on..."

He notices your slightly taken aback expression and adds.

"We don't torture _all_ the security guards but Eric was always an asshole. A _weird_ asshole. I'm glad they stuck him on the night shift."

As you both commence your evening work, locking down the arcade for the day, you consider telling Rhys about your own experience with Eric the night guard.

"Hey Rhys?"

"Yeah?" he looks up, his soft, brown hair falling loosely over his face and slightly obscuring his eyes. He attempts to blow it out of the way, pulling a goofy face in the process and making you smile.

"Uh, when you say that Eric was weird-?"

"Yeah, he was just kind of a jerk to everyone," Rhys tells you, standing up from the arcade machine he'd been polishing. "He'd play these weird pranks on all of the staff. Like he'd shine his torch in our eyes to make us drop things, he'd make up stories about us to tell Dunlap to get us in trouble and he was always a complete fucking _sleaze_ to all of the girls. Like Gina and I basically had a joke at one point that if you try to cop a feel on one of the animatronics, you get banned but if you try to cop a feel on one of the staff you get demoted to night shift." As he speaks, his expression slowly transititions from exasperated to annoyed to completely serious. "Look, Molly, stay away from him. Seriously. Ok?"

You nod, feeling that the mood's been soured enough without you adding anything else to this topic.  
At this point you also harden your resolve to never come anywhere near the security guard's office again.

You both go on with your duties, laughing and joking all the way.  
When you reach the play-area, Rhys gives you a nudge in the ribs.

"Wanna jump in the ball pit?"  
"What?" you laugh. "It's for the kids only. We'd get in so much trouble!"  
"It's in a blind-spot on the cameras! Come on! Didn't you just love this as a kid?"  
"Well, yeah but-"

Before you can say another word, Rhys has pulled the safety gate aside and gone straight in for a cannonball.  
"GERONIMO!"  
A spray of multicoloured balls flies into the air and your co-worker resurfaces looking all too pleased with himself. "Come on in, the plastic is fine."

You're seriously tempted.  
You can remember almost all of your ball pit adventures when you were younger. All of your games of Pirates and Mermaids, Beach and Hide-and-Seek seem to be vividly flooding back to you and making you feel excited in a way you haven't felt in a while.

" _Rhys_ ," you wheedle, looking over your shoulders as if you expect Dunlap to walk in at any second.

He starts clucking in a crude imitation of a chicken. "Bawk, bawk, bawk! Molly is a chicken! Molly is a chicken!"

"That's racist," you scold him. "Considering that we work for a chicken."

"Miss Chica would be more upset than you than with me," Rhys retorted. "Considering that you're passing up on a perfectly good chance to play in a perfectly good ball pit. In fact, the whole gang would be upset with you! Especially, Mr Fre-"

Suddenly your whole body is airbourne.  
Then you're waist-deep in a pool of plastic balls, kneeling on a spongey material and you feel alive in a way that you haven't felt in years.

"Hey-hey-hey!" Rhys whoops appreciatively.

"I can't believe you played the Freddy card against me!" you exclaim once you've regained your breath, "splashing" him with the multi-coloured balls.

"It got you in here, didn't it?" he comments, "splashing" you back with a wink.

Eager to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face, you do the first thing that comes into your head. Dizzy, warm and completely exhilarated, you lean forward and press your hand against his chest.

He looks at you for a moment with slight confusion, raising a slow eyebrow.  
You're briefly surprised to see a tinge of red start to appear on his cheeks.

"Molly? What are you-?"

"TAG!" you shout, scrambling backwards.

His look of shy confusion turns to a surprised but greatly impressed grin. "Oh...it is _on_...it is so on!"

Your game ends somewhere around 10pm, with Rhys tackling you in Kid's Cove.  
By 10:30pm, he's taught you how to crawl through the vents- citing that Patrick can erase the camera footage in the morning.  
By 11:00pm, you've both raided the kitchen and made your own concoction of cupcake batter- not forgetting to clean up with the air of two forensic detectives.  
By midnight, you're both sitting on the edge of the main stage, soda cans in hand.

"So, have you worked here long?" you ask him.  
"About three years. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid so it feels like a lot longer," he replies. " I won't be here after next summer though."  
You feel a sinking in the pit of your stomach. "Oh?"  
"Nah, I'll finally be set to head to Uni. I'm majoring in music studies."  
"Do you play an instrument?"  
"Yep, guitar. I know, right? I'm a walking cliché. You play anything?"  
"I'm more of a musical fan than a musician. I-uh..."

The words fall from your mouth, giving way to a still silence as you stare into the hallway at the end of the dining room.  
A pair of silver, gleaming eyes are staring at you from the dark.

"What's up?" Rhys asks you, following your gaze. "What's the matter with-? Oh. Shit. One of the old animatronics got out again."

A rhythmic clunking sounds out in the shadows and slowly, the form of Foxy the Pirate walks out. Time has not been kind to this character, it's fur starting to wear away and revealing parts of its endo-skeleton.  
It doesn't look frightening to you but your body is being overtaken by a very familiar feeling.  
Suddenly you're shaking.

Rhys, on the other hand, is completely calm.  
"Hey, Foxy's come out to say hello. Heh, we'd better put him back to sleep. C'mon, we can grab a flashlight from behind the main desk and-...Molly? Are you ok?"

You try to form words but no sooner have you pressed your lips together in an attempt to coax your voice out of its absence, tears are already falling down your face in hot, pained rivulets.

Then he's holding you against his chest, his arms around you.  
He says nothing, waiting for you to stop shaking.  
When you both look up again, Foxy has gone.

He offers to give you a ride home when the night guard's car appears in the parking lot.  
You gratefully accept. You had taken a taxi ride in as your mom had appropriated the car for the evening.  
He doesn't say anything about the Foxy incident as he drives you home, instead offering you a selection of tapes to choose from.  
"You've got shot-gun. You're the DJ," he tells you with a chuckle.

You both sing and air-guitar your way across the motorway, not giving a damn about pitch, pace or volume.  
When he pulls up beside your house, you're wishing you could somehow freeze time.

"Thanks," you say for the hundredth time as you undo your seatbelt and start to get out of the car.  
"Any time," Rhys tells you and he sounds earnest. "Hey Mol?"

"Yes?"  
You turn back, noticing that he's now leaning across the passenger seat towards you.  
You stoop slightly, brining your head down so that it's level with his, a slow warmth spreading from your cheeks downward.

Then his hand is on your shoulder.  
And your eyes are on his...

"TAG!" he shouts out, pulling the door shut and speeding off down the street.

For a moment, you stare after him in open-mouthed frustration.  
Then you're smiling.  
Then you're laughing.

And you keep laughing as you walk inside.

* * *

 **Foxy**

"So, are you scared of him or something? Like when he's turned on? It's ok if you are. I know lots of people who are older than us that still get freaked out by the animatronics and he's easily the scariest one so...I'm not judging or anything."

Rhys has finally brought up the whole situation with you and the Foxy animatronic.  
It's been about three days since you last did the night shift with him and your next night shift with him will be next Saturday.

"No, it's nothing like that. I actually really like Foxy. It's just-"

You bite your lip, sitting down on a stack of flattened pizza boxes.  
You're both supposed to be cleaning the kitchen pantry but your priorities feel distinctly unaligned right now.

"You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," Rhys tells you softly. "I'm sorry to pry. Look, forget I said any-"

"No," you say firmly, suddenly very aware of your breathing. "It's ok...I just...I haven't really talked about this with anyone yet..."

Anyone who wasn't your school counsellor anyway.

"You don't have to talk about it with me."  
"I _want_ to. I...I have to tell someone...I have to stop being afraid to tell someone..."

Rhys rises and locks the door of the pantry, sealing you both inside before settling down beside you once more. "Take your time."

You inhale deeply through your nostrils.  
"So...I don't know if you remember this or even knew about this but...my brother, Shaun..."  
 _Christ,_ even saying his name out loud is hard. "My brother Shaun was one of the children who went missing...it happened just about a year ago. It'll be a year exactly next Saturday." Your fingers are knotting in your lap. "On the day that it happened, I took him here for his birthday. For _our_ birthday. We used to..." You laugh slightly, tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes. "We used to call it our Same Day Birthday because we'd always celebrate it together. Every year, him and me, right here...at Freddy's..."

You have to stop for a second, coughing to take the weight from your throat and to allow a few tears to slip from your eyes.  
"The whole thing with Foxy...it's really stupid. Like, Foxy was Shaun's favourite character. The two of us used to have so much fun together...and now it's just like...seeing Foxy reminds me of all that fun we used to have together and how..." You feel a sob swelling in your throat and no matter how much you try to suppress it, you're forced to let it out. "...h-how it's never going to happen again...all because of me!"

Rhys hands you a Kleenex from his waistcoat pocket. "First of all, there's nothing stupid about that. Anyone in your position would feel that way." He helps you to dab your eyes. "Second of all, what happened to Shaun is _not_ your fault..."

What Rhys is saying is exactly what the school counsellor said and as much as you want to believe him, it's still too difficult to do that.

"I know," you say hoarsely. "I know that this all happened because of _whoever_...whoever..." You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. "But if I hadn't brought Shaun here or if I had been watching him just a little better...maybe...maybe..." You sniff loudly, realising how unbelievably unattractive you probably look right now but trying not to care. "There's no point in trying to imagine what could have been. It just makes it harder to accept the way things are." You fold your arms across your chest, slumped back against the brick wall behind you, as though trying to hold yourself together. "It's crazy at home at the moment. My mom doesn't want to accept that Shaun is gone. She's campaigning with the other parents to have the case reopened but the cops won't do shit. They came to our door saying that they'd found " _reasonable_ _evidence"_ to say that Shaun was dead..." You're crying openly at this point, your breathing becoming laboured. "...but they didn't even have a body for us to bury. The whole situation is just so fucking messed up!"

Rhys has his arm around your shoulders now and you're grateful for his warmth.

"You're so strong for putting up with all of this," he tells you. "So damn strong. Most people wouldn't be able to put themselves back in a working environment after all of that but you finished school, you have a job..." He sits in silence with you for a moment, occassionally helping you to wipe your eyes before finally asking: "Mind if I ask you something?"

"...go on."

"Why did you come back here?"

"I just needed to get out of the house. I needed to do something, somewhere else...I needed to be productive..."

"I get that...but why...why come back _here_? To Freddy's?"

You sigh, shrugging and leaning back to look at the ceiling. "I know...I know it sounds stupid and _selfish_ but I guess...I guess I wanted to prove to myself that this place hadn't been ruined for me. For _us_. That this huge part of my childhood and this huge part of his _entire world_ hadn't been destroyed and that I wasn't going to be able to so much as look at these place without losing it..."

Rhys raises his eyebrows. "Mission accomplished. Jesus H. Christ, Molly, you're stronger than most people would be in your situation. I think if I were you...I don't know...I'd probably feel like lighting this place on fire and dancing in the flames..." His voice softens a little. "I remember you, y'know? I remember seeing you and Shaun together."

"I remember seeing you on that night too," you admit, your knees pressing together beneath your skirt in a vain attempt to prevent your body from shaking. "You were so kind. Shaun loved you straight away." Something dawns on you and a shaky smile crosses your lips. "It was _you_ who sent out the two cupcakes, right?"

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. "I felt like your birthday needed celebrating too. I wasn't kidding when I said that I wish me and my big sis were like you and Shaun."

"You've got an older sister?" you query, realising that Rhys has never spoken about his family before.

"Yep. She's about thirty-two and she hates me."

"She hates _you_? _You?_ Sheesh, I didn't think that was possible."

Rhys laughs, shaking his head. "A lot more possible than you might think. I dunno, we just had this stupid falling out when I was still in high school and we stopped talking for a while. Then when we finally tried to do the whole "reconnecting" thing, it didn't work out any better. She didn't support my decision to drop out of college and I didn't support her decision to marry the asshole she'd been dating for under a year. Dad reckons that one day we'll both settle our differences but...I don't know anymore..."

You sit with him in silence for a moment, both of you staring at the white tiled ceiling above your heads.  
On a whim, you drop your head to his shoulder and he allows you to do so without protest.

"For the record, I think you're pretty cool."  
"Thanks, Molly. That means a lot."

He's not being sarcastic or a smart-ass.  
He sounds completely genuine.

"Hey...your birthday's coming up, right?"  
You can tell by the tone of his voice where he's taking the conversation and you quickly decide that you don't want it to go there.

"I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it this year."  
"What? C'mon...you sure you don't wanna do something quiet? Grab the guys, go see a movie?"  
"I don't think I should celebrate it, somehow. Doesn't feel right. "  
"Well, I can't force you but don't your parents think it's kinda weird that you don't wanna do anything? I'll bet they've been-"  
"My mom's the one who told me that I probably shouldn't celebrate it this year," you say, ashamed of how bitter and broken your own voice sounds.

"Molly..." Rhys begins but he's abruptly cut off by a sharp knocking on the door.

"Who the fuck's managed to lock themselves in the pantry!?" Patrick's voice shouts out from the other side. "Get out here, dingus! The kitchen staff need to use that area!"

You both exchange a look and hesitantly get to your feet.  
Rhys unlocks the door and opens it, revealing both of you- hair tousled, red-faced and teary eyed.

Patrick gawks at both of you for a moment, his jaw a little unhinged. "I thought you two were the _good_ ones!" A grin breaks out across his face as he epically misreads the situation further with every passing second. "Ohh...just be grateful that I found you two crazy kids and not Dunlap! Haha!"

He strides out of the kitchen and for a second you lift a hand to stop him, starting to say something in correction of what he has just inferred.  
Rhys stops you, shrugging coolly.

"But he thinks- He thinks that we- You and me-?!"  
"Let him think what he wants to think. It's not the end of the world, right?"  
"...no," you mutter, blushing a little more and folding your arms.

Rhys nudges you in the side. "If it helps your peace of mind, I'll tell Pat that we were _not_ in fact canoodling amongst the pizza ingredients." His look goes from coy to concerned. "You ok though? Before we go back outside. You ok?"

You nod. "Plenty. Thanks."

"You and I are on the night shift this Saturday," he calls back as he walks back into the hallway. "You! Me! Air-Hockey Tournament! Loser buys drinks! Bring your A-Game!"

"I will!" you shout back, feeling that no other employee anywhere has probably ever been this excited about a night shift.

* * *

 **A Night to Remember**

Rhys is waiting for you in the front hall when you arrive at the semi-abandoned pizzeria.

He's grinning a little too much when you finally reach the door that partitions the front hall from the arcade.  
"What are you up to?" you challenge him, noticing the mischievous glint in his eye as he unlocks the door.

As you step inside, you immediately notice that something is a little amiss.  
Instead of being greeted by the usual darkness, you're immediately struck by a dazzling bombardment of bright, colourful lights.

"What the-?"

The stage is lit, the curtains are drawn and all of the animatronics are out, poised for a performance.  
Above the stage, a familiar banner is hung, emblazoned with the words:

"Happy birthday," Rhys whispers in your ear. "You might not want to make a big deal out of it but I do. You deserve it, Molly."

You blink back tears as he holds up a pink-frosted cupcake with a candle on it.

"Got a wish?" he asks, giving you the smile that takes you over just as quickly as it did on the very first time you saw it.

You nod, shrugging and smiling- afraid to speak for fear that you'll start to cry properly.  
You pucker your lips and blow out the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks you.

"I can't tell you," you whisper, a shaky smile breaking out across your face. "It won't come true, if I do."

"Maybe I could help you to make it come true," Rhys challenges you with that annoying, slightly cocky curve in his brow.

All the same, you can't stop yourself from smiling at him.

"You've done enough already, Rhys," you tell him earnestly, opening your arms to give him a hug. "Thank you so much, seriously. Thank you so, so much..."

"Hey! Don't smush the cupcake," he warns you, laughing as he playfully strains against your grip. "And don't thank me yet either! The night's just begun."

You both raid the kitchen, this time making your own customised pizzas- seeing who can create the weirdest combinations of toppings.  
After a hearty dinner of pizza and fries, you both take to the arcade and finish your evening back in the dining hall with a mixture of Belinda Carlisle and Bon Jovi blaring from the speakers.

"Wanna dance?" Rhys asks you, hopping down from his perch on the edge of the stage and offering you a hand.

"Sure."  
You've never been shy about dancing but your heart is thumping as Rhys' fingers wrap around yours. He draws you in close to him with a flourish. His palms are cold and his chest is warm.

The song is quite pacy but you both stick to a clumsy, Disney-esque slow dance, half-serious, half-mocking the situation.

You're both pretty devoid of any kind of rhythm and it's hard to waltz to pop-rock but neither of you seem to care about that.  
You're both laughing and chatting, (shouting over the music).  
His hands are on your waist and yours are around his neck.  
In the midst of the bridge to "Heaven Is A Place On Earth", Rhys falls silent, his eyes settling on yours.

For a wild second, you think he's about to tag you again.  
Then he leans forward, tilting his face downward to yours.

You lean up to meet him.

* * *

 **Nerve**

News of the new animatronics arrives at the pizzeria.  
The company is working alongside a new manufacturer.

"They'll be making their debut at the sister location I was telling you about. They look real fucking high tech, right? If they test well, the ones we have here might be getting an upgrade," Devon tells you, giving you some photos to pore over before leaving you alone in the break room.

You don't even hear Eric come into the room.  
You flinch when you see him but greet him politely all the same, despite the fact that you're already mentally concocting excuses to leave the room immediately.

He sits down beside you and offers you a cigarette.  
You decline.  
He laughs and tells you how innocent you are.  
You smile but say nothing else, starting to pack up your things.

There is something dreadfully unnerving about his demeanor.  
Everything he does- every gesture, every word he says- seems almost _too_ fluid. Too calculated. Too sequential.  
It's as though he's so natural about everything that he's distinctly _un_ natural to behold.

And then there are those _eyes._  
Always glassy and always staring.

"Are those the new robots?"  
"Uh...yeah, I think so..."

He says that they look kinda pretty.  
You say that it's probably to appeal to more little girls.  
He asks if they appeal to you.  
You say that you're not a exactly a little girl.  
He laughs. "You act like one."  
You stand up to leave.

You don't say a word as you shrug your satchel on to your arm and stand up.

You've just reached the door when Eric calls out:

"So you and that Rhys boy are dating now, huh?"

You freeze, your limbs locking at the joints.  
You and Rhys hadn't made that public yet.  
You both decided to wait until the end of the week to tell the rest of Team E anyway.  
 _How did he know?_

You quickly tell him that this is none of his business and leave as swiftly as you can manage.  
You don't look back.  
You don't want to.

You just want to get back to Kid's Cove, sit next to Matey and play with the children who never fail to put you at your ease once more.

* * *

 **The Final Photo (Again)**

The night starts the same as any other late shift.  
Well, there is two nice, little changes.

Rhys places a small kiss on your cheek at the door of your storage locker, settling another upon your smiling, upturned lips when as you turn to look up at him.  
Devon has warned you both, (with a huge, goofy grin on his face), about the consequences of PDA at work.  
Reluctantly agreeing and wanting to preserve the sacredness of your shared nostalgia paradise, you both decide to limit your affections to hand-squeezes, lingering glances and the occasional, stolen kiss.

"Four more days," he reminds you and you happily echo this delighted countdown.

Four more days until you and Rhys are off to University, together.

"Hey, love birds!" Gina coos from the door. "Get out here! Last night for Team E starts now!"

The second nice, little change is that tonight, Devon, Gina and Patrick have come in to celebrate the last night of the season with pizza, arcade games, cupcakes and then drinks later at the local bar.

The five of you swap your favourite stories from the past twelve, tumultuous months, recounting all your worst and finest moments.  
Ceremoniously, you all attempt the infamous "Chica Challenge", to eat an XXL pizza with everything on it in less than a half hour but even between the five of you- it's an impossible feat.

"Ugh, such a bad idea. Can't believe I let you fuckers talk me into that," groans Patrick, pressing his forehead against the table. "You all suck."

"We suck _collectively_. We are a team of suck," Devon declares, slapping him on the back. "But we sucked pretty good this year. Eh? Team E for life?" He raises his plastic cup for a group cheers.

You all offer your various whoops and cheers, gingerly pressing the rims of your cups together.

"Now, with the sentimentalities out of the way," Gina says, standing up and slinging her purse over her arm. "I could use a smoke before we all head to _Roxxi's._ You all game?"

"Hold it, I want a photo first!" Rhys tells you all, jumping up from the table and running to pull the Kodak out from behind the prize counter. "Ok guys, get in together."  
You all huddle awkwardly over the table, managing an ungainly pose that fits you all into frame as Rhys hits the flash button.

Blinded but bemused, you all take turns laughing at the finished product once it's shook into existence.  
"Patrick looks stoned."  
"What's new?"  
"My eyes are red...I look possessed."  
"Sweet Jesus, I look pregnant in that."  
"Who's the father, G?"  
"A double pineapple and cheese."  
"Freddy will be heartbroken."  
"Freddy can go back to screwing Chica..."  
"I'll have you know that Freddy is in a committed relationship with Bonnie and he wants you to respect his life choices."  
"You're all sick people."  
"I'm just saying out loud what everyone knows is basically true..."

"I love these people," you think, looking around, resolving to stay in contact with them after you've left for University.

Patrick, Devon and Gina head out for a smoke but not before your fellow waitress leans down to your ear and whispers something that turns you redder than a slice of pepperoni:

 _"_ Remember, _Freddy's_ always watching. So if you two are gonna fuck, I'd do it in the kitchen. The cameras in there have always been screwy..."

She dodges your playful punch and scoots away before you can offer any further reprimands.

You and Rhys are left alone, talking about your plans for later on that night and sipping from your cups.

"Hey, I've got some good news, by the way. Looks like Eric is gonna be fired."  
"What? Why?"  
"Turns out he's been lying about his identity. His real name's not even Eric."  
" _No way_!"  
"It's true. Carrie and Shanice from Team C basically overheard Dunlap talking about the whole thing with the cops this morning."  
"Christ...that's crazy..."  
"I know, right?"

You start to notice a strange acrid taste building in your mouth.

"Hey Rhys, what kind of soda is this?"

"Uh, grape I think. It's purple-ish anyway," he says, staring at the liquid in his own cup. "Mine tastes kinda weird though. Are you sure the bottles you used were in date?"

Now you're confused. "The bottles _I_ used? I didn't pour these. They were already out on the table when Gina and I got in. I thought it was you who poured them."

Rhys shakes his head. "I was in the locker room the whole time. Must've been Pat or D...or maybe someone left them over from one of the parties today..."

You're about to say that you're pretty sure the dining hall was cleared on schedule but you're interupted by the sound of a car pulling up outside the front entrance of the pizzeria.

"Did you hear that?"  
"Yeah. We're all parked around back right?"  
"Uh-huh. Who the heck's coming around here at this time of night?" You find a yawn coming from your throat despite you not feeling tired at all. "It's too early for the guard to show up."  
"I'll check it out," Rhys says, standing up and giving your forehead a kiss. "I'll be right back, ok?"

"Ok."  
You smile at the little kiss and return your attention to the cup of soda in your hand and the photograph beneath your fingertips.

The place isn't as eerie as it used to feel even with no one else around.  
Maybe it's just because you're feeling really excited about the evening ahead.  
Despite your excitement, you're starting to feel terribly sleepy all of a sudden. You try to examine the picture of you and the team and even though it makes you smile, your brain still seems to be set on the idea of falling asleep.

Your head is so heavy that you need to place it down on the table.  
The clammy, metal table suddenly feels like the most comfortable surface you've ever settled upon and now your eyelids are drooping without your consent.  
You try to sit up straight to discourage your drowsy mannerisms but your limbs are far too heavy and refuse to obey.  
Your vision slowly fades to blackness.

When you awaken again, the first thing that you notice is how cold you are.  
Your skin is lined with goosebumps and you can see your own breath.  
You look around into the darkness, realising three things almost instantly.

1\. You're sitting on the ground.  
2\. Your back is against a wall.  
3\. You're in the Parts and Services area of backstage.

You all but jump out of your skin when you realise that you're slumped between two of the animatronics, Faceless Bonnie to your left and Withered Chica to your right.  
Shuddering, you try to move and realise that your sides are in agony. For some reason the act of standing is a painful task to manage.

You manage it anyway and are starting to limp your way to the exit when you notice someone close to the stage area.  
They're hunched over, squatting on their haunches like a child feeding the ducks at a pond.  
Every now and then, their arm jerks erratically and you hear a soft, squelching noise.

As you lean closer, you start to recognise the form.  
The familiar form inspires initial confusion in you...then sheer, sickening horror.  
Panic spreads throughout your body as a single phrase echoes in your mind:

 _"His name isn't even Eric."_

You clap a shaking hand over your mouth and start to slowly back towards the door.  
Whatever he's doing here, however you got here...you don't want to know...

A sharp, shrill voice in the back of your mind tells you to go find the guys.  
They wouldn't leave you here. They have to still be here.

You keep an eye on the security guard as you back away slowly, fearing that any second he'll turn around and see you.  
You're trying to piece together the fragments of your memories from earlier, trying to figure out how you got there.

You can vaguely remember hearing some loud noises.  
Some shouting.  
Some music.  
Or was it music?  
Maybe it was something else.

You can remember someone's arms around your waist, dragging you into a standing position.  
You can remember not wanting to stand.  
You can remember the person telling you that they were going to carry you.

You aren't looking where you're going and you trip over the outstretched leg over one of the animatronics. Bonnie's blue pelt feels surprisingly soft.  
Warm too.

You squint into the darkness at the leg that caused you to stumble, wondering why Bonnie is now wearing pants.

Then you realise.  
Oh, you realise.

You haven't tripped over an animatronic limb.  
You've tripped over a human limb.  
A human leg, to be precise.  
Clad in a waiter's uniform.

 _Devon_.

You have to bite the inner part of your mouth to stop yourself from whining.

 _Maybe he's passed out too?  
He doesn't look like he's in a very comfortable position.  
Should you wake him?  
Get him to leave with you? _

Gina is lying nearby, her head curled awkwardly under her body and her arms loosely draped over her head.  
Patrick looks like he's on his knees, his forehead pressed against the far wall.

 _Maybe you should go off and get help?  
What happened to them?  
_  
On the other side of the room, "Eric" is still crouched, still thoroughly engaged in whatever he's doing.

 _Rhys.  
You want to find Rhys.  
First, you need back-up. _

You dare to nudge Devon with the tip of your toe, trying to stir him back to the waking world.  
His body jostles, his head lolls to one side...  
...and you see.

You see the mark.  
The glaring, crimson absess in the centre of his forehead, dribbling rivulets down his face.

You immediately scream, unable to contain yourself.

"Oh," you hear the security guard say, standing up slowly and turning to face you. His dark purple uniform stands out in the dark, his eyes glinting as piercingly as the guilded badge in the centre of his chest. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet, Molly."

The object that gleams most prominently, however, is the knife that he holds in his right hand.

He switches on one of the lights and the white light illuminate a scene that you can barely bring yourself to process.  
Slumped amongst the feet of the Toy Animatronics like ragdolls, strewn about as haphazardly as the older models are the bodies of your co-workers.

They are not asleep.  
They are not passed out.  
The scarlet that stains them and the unnatural bends to their limbs serve as evidence that they are not going to wake up no matter how much you nudge them.

You stare at Not-Eric with mounting revulsion, bile starting to rise into your throat.  
"Wh-What did you-?"

You look downward, at the guard's feet.  
You immediately wish you hadn't.

It's Rhys.  
It's still Rhys.  
But he doesn't have a face anymore.

Vile, acidic phlegm suddenly shoots upward in a hot, slippery rush and you cough up the contents of your stomach on to the floor.

The security guard tuts, shaking his head.  
"Naughty, naughty girl...looks like she had a little too much drink...it's time someone put her to bed..."

You manage to stand up straight, slurring each word between sobs as you scramble backwards towards the door. "Stay the fuck away from me!"

Now you're running.  
The hallway seems to be tilting from side to side and you're crashing into the walls with every second step but you keep running.  
You remember that there's an emergency radio with a direct line to the local police station behind the prize counter and in the bleary recesses of your mind, this seems like your last possible lifeline.

Even if you make it to the parking lot, there's no way you can outrun him.

You look over your shoulder and see that he's not even running.  
He's walking, calmly, smiling coldly at you.

You just about make it to the prize counter and you manage to grab the radio from under the counter but you only make it as far as Kid's Cove before he completely catches up with you.

The guard tackles you to the ground from behind, pushing you into the plush play mats and coming to straddle your stomach.  
His hands find your throat just as you manage to press the call button on the radio.

 _ **"What is your emergency?"**_ the voice on the other end of the radio asks you but you can only produce feeble gurgles, your breathing completely restricted and spittle running from your lips.  
A bit of garbled static is all that is the receiver manages to transmit as you desperately try to at least say the numeric code for a break in.

"Shh," the guard whispers, pressing a finger to your lips, releasing your throat but ripping the radio from your hand and tossing it across the room. "Shh...there's no need for that..."

He pinches your chin and forces you to look at him.  
His eyes still don't even look human.  
His eyes are bearing into yours with a slow-burning intensity.

And what he says next is what drains you of all emotion, putting you into an irrevocable state of petrified shock:

"Your brother had eyes just like yours."

What happens next doesn't feel like it's even happening to you.  
It's as though your mind has already left your body and now you're watching the whole scene from a distance where you can't feel anything anymore.

You are looking into the eyes of Matey- the Mangle- one glowing ivory orb and one dark, lifeless orb.  
You wonder if this is how it feels?  
To be torn apart and put back together on a daily basis?

You want to apologise to her, your final thought clear in the forefront of your mind.  
You're wondering if metal has feelings- if it feels pain the same way that flesh does when its being torn apart.

And this is it.  
Here it is.  
Fleeting.  
It comes and goes.  
The final frame.  
Then it's gone.

And so are you.

* * *

 **Fix You**

The first thing you become aware of is your very clear lack of awareness. You can't feel any part of your body.  
Not your fingers. Not your toes. Not even your face.

Not until a hand suddenly settles upon your forehead.

 _"I'm so sorry."_

The voice that floods your ears is both that of an adult's and that of a child's, simultaneously soft and sweet while still being loud and authoritative.

 _"I'm so sorry about what happened to you, Molly. I know how much pain you're in right now. I know because it all happened to me too."_

You try to tell the voice that it's alright, that it wasn't their fault but you can't seem to use your voice right now. You try to open your mouth but you can't quite feel your mouth anymore.  
The voice sounds a lot more like a child now, but the hand on your head is starting to stroke your forehead just like a loving parent.

 _"I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. I couldn't save you or your friends...and now you're broken. You're broken like all the rest of us here...but I can fix you..."_

You finally feel your body start to respond to your desire to move.  
Slowly, your eyes begin to open and you just about perceive the radiant, iridescent face of a child.

 _"You won't be the same as before but you'll still be here. You've spent so long taking care of all of the children here and I want to let you keep taking care of the children here..."_

You want to ask the child so many question but something about their voice compels you to keep listening to them. You move closer to them as they seem to be only source of warmth and the only source of light in this endless darkness, this void that you have only just woken up into but you still seem to know so well.

 _"I need you to help all of us but I especially need you to help Shaun. He misses you..."_

"Shaun?"

You hear your voice aloud for the first time.  
Then Shaun is by your side, his arms around your tummy, hugging you the way he used to and looking up with you with those big, happy eyes.

"Molly! Hi Molly!"

" _Shaun_ ," you breathe, barely able to contain yourself. "Where have you been?!"

"Right here, dummy! I was right here in Freddy's all this time! I was always here! I kept trying to tell you but you kept crying whenever you saw me!"

You ruffle his auburn hair, his eyes glinting up into yours.

 _"I was able to take care of Shaun and the other lost children here but we cannot leave completely,"_ the nameless child tells you. _"Shaun needs you here. The children need all of you. To help them. To protect them."_

"Protect them?"

"From the man in purple," whispers Shaun, terror in his eyes all of a sudden. "He's the one who put us all here."

 _"I can offer you the chance to stay here with all of your friends and with Shaun if you will agree to help us."_

You look at the nameless child who sits before you, seeing the tear trails that mar their face and then you look at Shaun, remembering how great it felt to be somebody's big sister.

Remembering what it felt like to learn that you might never get that chance ever again.

Suddenly, only one possible answer remains in your mind.

"Alright, I'll stay here," you tell the small, glowing child.  
The child smiles briefly and places their hand upon your chest.

When you wake up again, you're sitting in Kid's Cove but somehow the room looks different.  
Or maybe it's you that's different.

Your heartbeat seems to be slower now, anyway.  
Very slow.  
Almost non-existent.  
Maybe it's because you don't have a heart anymore.

* * *

 **Back to the Grind**

Work begins early in the morning as always.  
7am to be precise.

Sometimes it feels like you practically wake up already at work.  
Especially now that you're working these long night shifts too.  
It's funny; sometimes you don't even remember going to sleep and your night shift seems to blur right into your day shift.

You look around the backstage area, taking stock of your surroundings and noticing Gina, Devon, Pat and Rhys- all of whom appear to still be asleep.

One of the new staff members is kind enough to escort you to your station in Kid's Cove.  
You can't quite remember why but you can't always move very easily these days.

The new staff members seem alright.  
They're all a little standoffish and don't seem to like talking much but they're pretty easy to keep in line. One sharp glance in their direction is enough to send them scarpering if they show any bad behaviour.

You overhear one of the new girls saying that you "seriously creep her out" but you aren't offended. Maybe it's alright that she's a bit afraid of you.  
It's important that you're able to assert your seniority over them. How else are you to be expected to act as their mentors?

Your work day is quite normal; as usual toddlers are practically pulling you asunder but you love playing with them. They still talk to you and cuddle you and draw pictures of you between trying to feed you bites of pizza.  
Being assigned to Kid's Cove full-time doesn't seem too awful.

The only down side is that now you don't get to see Rhys and the others as much.  
He, Devon and Gina are assigned to the Dining Hall whilst Patrick is now permanently in the Arcade.

Business seems to be improving, you notice.  
It was a little bit quieter at first but now it's slowly creeping back to normal.  
More parties are coming in and parents don't seem as reluctant to just trust the staff and let their children play in the facilities.

You're surprised when your mom comes in to visit one day.  
So do Gina's parents, Devon's brother and Patrick's fianceé.

And even Rhys' sister.

They don't stay for very long and you suppose it's because they don't want you to disturb your work.  
Despite the fact that she didn't say a word to you- it still means a lot, you decide.

The best part of the day by far is getting to hang out backstage with your coworkers after a long day.  
You also get to play with the other children too.  
The other children sleep during the day in the back-room and really only come out when the pizzeria starts to get empty.

There are six of them in total, including Shaun.  
One sleeps under the prize counter- placated by a music box that plays his favourite lullaby. You all try not to disturb him as he's got quite the temper. He's the one who let you stay here.

His best friend- the one dressed in gold- seems to come and go as he pleases. You suppose him to be quite shy.  
The remaining four are usually quite happy to cling to the staff members potter around the pizzeria with the rest of you.

The best nights are when the pizzeria is quiet and you're all left to enjoy yourselves in peace.  
But they're getting fewer and fewer.

Some nights, the purple man decides to come back.  
He's changed his name but you know it's him.

He tries to fool you all.  
He tries to shine his light in your faces like he used to.  
He tries to watch you in the cameras like he used to.

He even tries to hide his face using an old Freddy costume head so that you won't recognise him.

"It's still him," Devon growls under his breath as you watch him from the end of the corridor. "It's got to be him."

"I could go in through the vents, mess with his torch again," Patrick offers, his large eyes glowering at the figure in the office ahead of you all.

"Fucking bastard," Gina sneers, almost dropping her tray in frustration. "How _dare_ he come back here?"

"We've gotta be careful with this," Rhys cautions, his full, green eyes as full and green as ever as he looks at you. "If we move too fast, he'll know we're coming."

You look from Rhys, slowly transferring your gaze to the figure clad in purple sitting at the desk at the end of the corridor. From your new perch on the ceiling, you feel like you've got the best chance.

"I'll go," you volunteer.  
And you say it with such conviction that no one tries to stop you.

You keep sending him away.  
But he keeps coming back.

But you'll keep sending him away again.  
You don't care how long it takes.

You feel like you _can't_ care how long it takes.

You can hear the music starting to play again:

The guard has forgotten to wind the music box.

You smile to yourself.  
It won't be long until he's gone again.

And if he tries to come back, you'll get him.  
You'll get him like you always do.

You're awake.

You're awake and now you can't go back to sleep.

* * *

 _Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!_


End file.
